


your gentle hands

by Heyriel



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Geralt is an anxious mess sometimes, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Communicating, Give some TLC to your Witcher, Jaskier is understanding, M/M, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, back massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:29:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22441111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heyriel/pseuds/Heyriel
Summary: Jaskier offers Geralt a back massage, the Witcher needs a moment to get on board.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 29
Kudos: 935





	your gentle hands

"Lie down and I'll massage your back for you. We should still have some of that scented oil the Lady Mildrith gave me as a parting gift... unless that's what you used on your leather boots last night, you uncultured heathen."

Geralt did not even dignify the bard with a response as he stepped out of the low tub.

They had spent the last few weeks on the road, busy with contracts that filled their pouches with coin and left Geralt bloodied and bruised all over. Now that he's been fed and bathed, his body examined quite thoroughly for any injuries that might need further care, all he wants is to lay down and sleep for a whole day, except... except.

Jaskier's hands are truly a blessing. Soft and strong, able to play the sensitive spots on a humans body just as well as the strings of his lute. There's a reason Geralt can't refuse Jaskiers offer of a good scrubbing whenever they splurge on a hot bath.

The bards' hands, after all, do more than get him clean, more than aid his recovery after a tiring fight. Their touch soothes something in Geralt, something raw and painful that he refuses to examine lest it breaks him wide open. It's a shameful thing for a Witcher to feel. Nevertheless, Geralt is utterly weak in the face of Jaskiers dogged insistence to be helpful.

Thus lured by the prospect of a warm, dry bed and yet more of the bard's gentle-but-firm care, Geralt prepares to lie face-down as instructed. And finds that he... can’t.

The mere idea of it makes his muscles lock up.

In truth, Geralt has never received a massage before. Not like this anyway. There'd been a whore or two who'd offered massages of a different kind, ones not meant to soothe a physical ache but to rile him up for things to come. The faster they got him going, the faster they could ask him to leave.

No, this is new. Sitting or standing or lying on his back allows Geralt a nearly full range of motion. Never has he been on his belly; half-blind and vulnerable. He doesn't even sleep that way.

"Geralt, did you hear- Geralt?"

The scent of sweet almond, footsteps moving closer.

"Something wrong with the bed?"

"No."

"Then what is it?"

A soft hand on his elbow, a questioning gaze.

"You know if you're too tired, we could just go to sleep, it's not-"

"Shut up."

Stepping forward resolutely, Geralt shrugged off the Bards' hand and dropped the towel still slung around his hips. There was nothing here to be wary of.

Jaskier wasn't a fighter. Even with a physical advantage and the element of surprise, Geralt would have no issue fending off an attack from the man. Nevermind that the bard had never been one for physical violence and... why was he even contemplating this? 

10 minutes ago he'd sat contentedly in a tub, bending this way and that as Jaskier scrubbed weeks worth of grime from his weary body. Lying on the damn bed shouldn't, couldn't, be such a leap and yet. Here he was, frozen again right next to the bed, his body flat-out refusing to put itself in the desired position.

There could be a knife hidden under the mattress. A whiff of poison underneath the cloying almond scent. Armed men positioned outside their door waiting for a signal. His weapons are by the hearth. A Witcher who bares his neck is dead meat. Many of his brothers have been killed by humans in less stupid circumstances.

Geralt startled with a low growl as Jaskier brushed past him wordlessly, tossed a vial of oil and a towel on the bed and then crawled up onto it himself. The minstrel kneeled, facing the white-haired man, and made an inviting gesture.

"Come sit, then. We can do it this way, too."

Taking the out, Geralt sat on the edge of the bed as instructed, feet firmly on the ground, hands on his thighs. He was glad not to be able to see the pity that must be in Jaskiers gaze.

"Relax, please, and move your hair aside -thank you." Geralt felt the dip of the bed as Jaskier shuffled closer. A cork was popped, the scent of the oil wafting over them, nearly dizzying in its sudden intensity. "I won't let your anxious animal brain ruin my hard work. Hmm, this will be cold for a minute,"

Geralt flinched at the first drop of oil on his shoulder. 

"And you know you have to tell me if anything hurts. Like, more than it already does. No bravery, yes, my dear Witcher? Also if you've hidden any cracked ribs from me, now is the time to come clean because I will absolutely not be held responsible for a punctured lung or something equally silly happening. If you die, that's on you."

Geralt grunted in agreement even though he was pretty sure Jaskier wasn't really looking for a response. If there'd been any further injuries, they would have been noticed during the bath.

Geralt's early attempts a convincing Jaskier not to worry about him being in pain, that any hurts a Witchers' body sustained would heal and that if they didn't, well, their kind was not meant to die of old age, had backfired spectacularly.  
These days Jaskier was keenly aware of most of Geralt's tells and deeply suspicious of being lied to about an injuries severity. It was easier to let the bard fuss freely than suffer his sad, disappointed puppy eyes all day.

Distracted by his thoughts, Geralt nearly missed the first proper touch. Large, smooth motions spread the sweet-smelling fluid down to the dimples of geralts back, then back up. Everything was was slick, at first cool, then rapidly warming with every pass.

Geralts shoulders slumped from where they had been instinctively drawn up in defence. If it wasn't for his enhanced senses, he might have missed Jaskier's murmur of approval.

Firmer touches now, digging into his trapezius and moving outward to the deltoid. Then back. Thumbs pushing into the muscles over his shoulder blades. Geralt was helpless to contain the shuddering gasp torn from his throat.

His shoulders carried tension constantly; from riding and fighting, the weight of two broadswords a daily, unrelenting strain. It had always been nice when Jaskier paid attention to the area during bathing, but Geralt had not wholly realized how sore and sensitive it was.

Now that Jaskier's full intent was on working the tightness from those muscles, the pressure of his grip was painful. Pleasurable. A heady mix of sensation that had Geralt squirm away involuntarily. His body, momentarily overwhelmed, uncertain if it wanted less or more.

"Sorry, was that too much?"

Was it? Geralt couldn't say. It had been unexpected. A lot. His skin burned where Jaskier's fingers had been.

After a moment of contemplation, he shook his head and sat up straight again, nudging his shoulders back in a wordless demand for more. Jaskier obliged with a soft chuckle.

"I guess that's a no. Tell me if you need a break, yeah?"

It was easier to bear now that Geralt expected it, but the sensations were still intense. Whenever the bard found a particularly sore (good?) spot, he'd hunch over or twist away, requiring Jaskier to stop and coax him back up with a gentle touch and soothing words.

He should have been embarrassed at being treated like a spooked horse, but each time Jaskiers' hands made a full pass from his shoulders down to his hips, dragging heat and tingling pleasure down his back, Geralt's mind was wiped clean of any such considerations. He could not even work up the energy to feel shame at the soft sounds of contentment leaving his mouth.

Geralt can find only warmth and safety under those gentle hands.

**Author's Note:**

> Abrupt ending is abrupt! A lesson learned: Writing is fun but hard lmao
> 
> Hm, I haven't quite figured out how to keep the inspiration juices flowing... maybe there will be more of this later, for now it just felt like a bit of a waste not to post it at all. :'D  
> Hope you enjoyed it! <3


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